people aren't flowers
by LemonLimeGrandSupreme
Summary: "You know, I used to go into pet stores and liberate the birds. Finally, my father made me stop. I just hated seeing them in cages. Are you in a cage, Draco?" / Draco, Luna & a bouquet of sunflowers. Oneshot. (repost from 2012 on my old account, beshears)


_flowers aren't people_

_**or**_

_skies of blue, clouds of white, dark blessed day, dark sacred night_

* * *

_draco/luna_

* * *

**September 30th, 1996**

Draco goes back to school feeling anxious and loathing. He doesn't know what he is going to do, but he can only pretend he is excited.

Only a few people notice – Pansy nad a few of his teachers. But another person smiles at him all the time, even though he mocks her more relentlessly than Longbottom.

Loony Lovegood is the only person who smiles at him any more.

He never smiles back.

**October 7th, 1996**

Draco has a splitting headache.

It feels like his sinuses are collapsing into his face, as if he's gone to the depths of the ocean without a second to stabilize himself. The pressure in his mind has become physical, forcing itself on him, digging into his pallid skin and turning him into this wan, shadowed, worthless version of himself. He _is _worthless, after all. That's what it feels like, certainly. Even his mother considers him as useless as a mudblood—she may fawn over him and boost his self-esteem to unfathomable proportions, but the fact that she doesn't believe in him speaks louder than anything else.

He kicks the wall as he walks into his dormitory, barely feeling the pain of a stubbed toe. It's absolutely nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse. Perhaps he's just numb, though. He used to feel every sensation and be able to scorn it all he pleases. But now? He feels half dead, shambling about as he tries desperately to succeed.

Honestly, nothing could make this day worse. And that's when he sees them. Draco Malfoy himself stands corrected.

A bouquet of sunflowers rests on his bed, still slightly muddy. But their yellow blossoms are more vibrant than sunshine and more confident than moonlight. They're tied together with a piece of fraying twine, tightened with a sloppily made bow. They seem to radiate in an unearthly way, and he knows he loathes them.

Draco has never liked flowers. Roses are elegant, but the thistles make them difficult to hold. Daffodils are disgusting—even their name. Tulips are far too pastel, and incredibly low class. Violets are decent, but they grow to close to the ground—he would never want to touch them for fear of filth. Lilac and lavender are overly used scents by his mother, so he, naturally, his nose is tired of them. And sunflowers—he thinks he hates sunflowers most of all. They're bright, disgusting and overbearing.

However, it isn't necessarily the unwelcome flowers he's perplexed about. No, he's contemplating just who in this school would think to lay sunflowers on his bed. Do they believe he'll waltz in and feel like he's being served floral arrangements by angels on the cloud of his cheap quality four-poster bed? That the sight of something plucked from the _ground _would brighten his day?

He picks them up and drops them in the rubbish bin. They look up at him helplessly: _please, Draco, please, please don't leave me_. He sneers.

Draco lies back and closes his aching eyes.

Later, Draco wakes, sweating in the dead of the night. He's cold and sticky, his headache increasing, as well as sore limbs. Feeling fatigued and weakened, he slips out of the covers and realizes he fell asleep in his uniform. His roommates surround him, sleeping snug in their little beds. Oh, he's not jealous. He doesn't want to be a snoring Nott, or a disadvantaged Zabini. He would give up any night of good sleep to evade being as poor and filthy-blooded as them.

He cracks his knuckles before smoothing out his robes. For the longest while, as he walks into the common room, he tries to recall what he dreamt about. The nightmares are usually the same: watching his mother being tortured, the cold embrace of death as he fails and falls from a tower. But last night was different.

Last night he dreamt of sunflowers.

He was walking in a long, endless field of them. They were oceanic, closing in on him. And as he walked down this path, he realized that there was no escape. And little bees were all resting on the flowers, blending into their bright, carefree yellow. And, then, they attacked.

Draco hopes the sunflowers got tossed out by the House Elves. He certainly doesn't need such ugly flowers anywhere near him.

He decides to take a walk. Anything is better than lounging in this dull, jading place. It grates at him to be trapped in Hogwarts, and he's hoping to get out as soon as possible. Yet, he won't until Dumbledore is dead. There's a twinge in his arm, but he knows he imagined it.

After a long while, Draco ends up wandering to a little cranny outside of the Great Hall. He curls up in it, lying his head down on the wall. It's incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn't mind. He's happier here, alone by himself than alone amongst others.

"Hello there." He jumps at the sound of a voice. "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you."

Of all people, it's Loony Lovegood. He rolls his cold grey eyes, not believing this. The girl he has tormented more ruthlessly than Longbottom is wandering straight to him in the dead of night. Does she think he would be caught dead talking to her? Fucking blood traitor—an absolute nutcase too.

"Good evening," she says softly, sitting beside him. He slides away from her. "Well, good morning. It's really just quite early. But, personally, I don't consider it morning until the sun is up. That's what they did before there was time. That's what animals do, you know? They don't have the same limitations as—"

"Please, shut the fuck up," Draco snaps viciously, rubbing his temples.

Loony hesitates for a moment, looking startled.

"Well, that was quite rude, wasn't it?" Her voice is so unaffected—still airy and light without a tremble to it. He can't believe he can't screw her up as much as the others. Then again, her mind isn't exactly functional.

"Where _are _you? You're certainly not in the real world," he says sharply, trying to twist a dagger in a butterfly's wing.

"My body's on the Earth and my head is in the stars," she comments softly, smiling faintly to herself.

There is a lengthy silence.

"Who said that, Draco?" she asks, as if someone is disgusting as her should be allowed to have a common conversation with him.

"I don't know," he says with a sigh, getting ready to leave.

"Well, I guess I did then." She shrugs and he almost laughs. Draco stands and starts to leave, desperate to get away from the freak. "Wait, Draco!" she calls, her tone suddenly changing from dizzy to frantic. He turns to face her. "Did you get them?"

"Get what?" He doesn't have the time for this.

"The flowers." It stuns him.

"No." And, at that lie, he escapes her as fast as he can.

**October 8th, 1996**

The old grand piano in a small refurbished parlor in the dungeons had sat untouched and collecting dust for decades. That is, until Luna stumbled upon it in her third year. She never could play—in fact, she still can't. But she cleaned it off, opened the lid and began to press the keys. She goes down there all the time to be away from everything. She plays songs she makes up in her head—she has no idea how to play one anyone else wrote.

She is playing the piano when someone opens the door. Luna looks up to see none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Hello," she says with a broad smile.

"It's you making that awful noise," he comments icily. "I should've known."

Luna's grin doesn't falter.

"Do you sing?" she asks, not bothering to comment on his snide remarks.

"What?" He seems startled every time she talks to him.

"Do you sing, or dance, or play?" she inquires, pressing further.

"Uh, no," he scoffs, a bewildered expression on his sallow face.

"Uh, no," she says kindly, pressing one of the lower keys. "I thought not."

He doesn't leave. Usually, people tend to walk out on Luna, even without saying goodbye. Perhaps he is plotting more mocking words, but they never are very effective. He doesn't say much out of spite, merely out of some kind of mimetic desire. He only wants to raise his social standing, his feelings about himself.

Luna doesn't fear or hate Draco Malfoy; she pities him.

"Where did you even find this hideous thing?" he asks, looking the piano up and down. "It's almost as ugly as you."

"In here." Luna answers the first question, pretending not to notice the second. She isn't hurt by it.

"Well, I figured," he says huffily, picking at the straps of his leather messenger bag.

They stare at each other for a moment. Luna's luminous, electric blue eyes against Draco's tired grey ones. He suddenly jumps.

"I should go," he says with a feeble sneer.

"Have a nice night." She waves as he walks out on her without another word.

She taps her fingers on the keys.

There's something different about Draco Malfoy.

**November 5th, 1996**

"Oh, Longbottom, words don't hurt, except for _unforgivable curses_," Draco says mockingly, laughing at Longbottom's expression.

He looks like he is going to cry.

Suddenly, Loony Lovegood walks into the picture. Oh, wow, this gets better and better.

"Don't worry, Neville. Draco is just upset because his father is in Azkaban," she says, not mockingly or angrily, but as if she is commenting on the weather.

As they walk away, he feels both angry, resenting, and desiring of her.

She is way too confusing.

**May 3rd, 1997**

Draco walks with Luna through the Hogwarts courtyard, as she examines each and every flower. Personally, he is quite bored by it, and hoping he doesn't get seen with her. But he can't fight the feelings he has for her, and so he is secretly with her, to see what happens.

"If I could be any flower, Draco, I would be a sunflower. They're so big and tall," Luna says, turning to face him.

"People aren't flowers," Draco replies, averting his eyes.

"Life can be surprising, Draco. You have no idea that people aren't flowers. All of us are flowers, the Universe, stars, the moon. There is a _lot _more to the world than you seem to see." Luna shrugs and returns to her flower gazing.

All he can think about is the Dark Lord's task.

And, years later, now that Luna is gone, he wishes that he could've thought of more.

**November 2nd, 1997**

"I feel dead, Loony," Draco says, sitting in their secret meeting place.

She is the only person he is honest with, because she doesn't care much for his tough-guy reputation, and has no friends to tell. At first, he _hated _talking to her, but now he kinds of likes it. He'll never admit it, though.

"You're not dead, Draco," Luna replies airily, touching his knee. He allows her. "You're just backing away from life."

He thinks about it for a moment. Nothing she says ever makes sense, so he leans forward and kisses her. She sets her hand on his neck, and they fall back onto the stone floor of the Astronomy tower.

For the first time in two years, he feels _alive_.

**July 2nd, 1997**

Draco is in Diagon Alley, embarrassed to be seen. He killed Dumbledore only months ago, and now he is forced to go back to Hogwarts. Yes, it is under admirable management, but he deserves to stay at home with the other Death Eaters.

He ditches his mother and walks into the pet store. The animals are cute enough to take his mind off of his bad mood.

Inside, he sees the girl who confused him emotionally last year. It's Loony Lovegood, playing with a yellow bird. She turns around and smiles at him.

"Hi, Draco," Luna says, waving to him.

Draco looks both ways and then walks over to her, not wanting to be seen.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking at the bird in disdain.

"You know, I used to go into pet stores and liberate the birds. Finally, my father made me stop. I just hated seeing them in cages. Are you in a cage Draco?" Loony seems lost in her own daydream.

He doesn't respond.

**October 10th, 1997**

Draco goes to see Luna in secret. She is fighting against the professors, while Draco gets special treatment from them. He saved her from being tortured one day, and, after that, they see each other almost every day in the Astronomy together. Something about her liveliness, her freedom, captivates him.

"Luna, have you ever been kissed?" Draco asks, leaning against the window.

"No," Luna replies, and he isn't surprised. Loony Lovegood isn't exactly a boy magnet.

"Would you like your first kiss?" he asks, feeling awkward.

Luna shrugs, walking closer to him.

"Well, I think your first kiss should be with someone who really loves you. I know you know you're not my type, exactly – I personally prefer hot people of royal blood – but, I love you, Luna." He has never said that to anyone before.

He leans in, touching the side of her face. Luna comes closer to him too, and he can feel her hot breath against him.

Draco kisses her.

He feels free.

**December 20th, 1997**

Draco is sitting on the sofa when, suddenly, two cronies burst through the door. They're obviously eager with whoever they're dragging into this, and Draco imagines it must be someone of value to the Dark Lord. No one is _really _of value to the Dark Lord, except for Harry Potter, and on rare occasion, his aunt.

He stands up, setting down his book, and walks in to see what the fuss is about.

Then he looks at the captive, whom is not struggling one bit.

Luna.

**May 2nd, 1999**

Draco is walking through Diagon Alley, hating how people stare at him. He feels like they all know him. What he did. Long sleeves in summer is quite uncomfortable.

He catches the eye of someone familiar. It's Luna Lovegood. The one person he really misses sometimes. He can see the scars on her skin from dear Aunt Bellatrix.

Draco considers going up to talk to her, but he can't bear it. He walks into a flower shop, though, and buys a bouquet of sunflowers.

Luna sits down in a small café, and he sits at another table, a ways away from her. She is so in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice him.

He calls over a little kid and says, "Can you take that woman over there these flowers?"

The kid obeys him and Draco watches Luna examine them. It brings a sweet smile to her face. He always loved her smile.

She turns behind her and looks at him, grinning.

For the first time since his sixth year at school, he smiles back.


End file.
